


Traitor's Blood

by somelovelylove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But I felt like writing it anyway, I'm not sure if this is actually accurate, Sad little one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 08:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11055612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somelovelylove/pseuds/somelovelylove
Summary: "He was soaking in water and something else, all bruised. Found him nearly drowned coming out of a cave— tried to hide there probably, the coward."But Voldemort wasn't listening. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and if Goyle had been any other man, he might have thought it panic.





	Traitor's Blood

"I... I would like to be the first, My Lord, to apologize..."

He turned to her. "What did you do, Bella?"

She paused, a little confused, then answered. "He is my blood, my family—"

"Family is fleeting." He replied flatly. "Your family, for example, has been a constant disappointment." She flinched. "Nevertheless, you are the most loyal servant."

"I am!" She cried out in gratitude, cowering if just a little. "I am, My Lord, your most humble servant. My family has been a scorch upon my record, my reputation—"

The twin doors slammed open as Goyle entered, winded and soaking. 

"We found him, My Lord." He breathed. 

"He's _here?_ " Bellatrix asked, receiving a sharp look from her master. She stepped backwards. 

"Kill him." Voldemort answered dismissively, then looked more closely at the man.

"Of course, My Lord." Goyle turned.

"Wait." The man turned back. "Where have you come from?"

"Er, the North Sea." He swallowed. "My Lord."

"That was where the Black boy was found?"

"Yes." He answered. "He was soaking in water and something else, all bruised. Found him nearly drowned coming out of a cave— tried to hide there probably, the coward." 

But Voldemort wasn't listening. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and if Goyle had been any other man, he might have thought it panic. 

"My—" Bellatrix started.

"Bring him here." Goyle didn't move, confused. " _Now!_ "

The man scurried off, shouting to some unseen people in the hall. Voldemort flexed his hands, drawing his wand with a sigh and a shaken expression. He turned his face away from Bellatrix, who seemed much too keen to see him. Two men came in, dragging a boy not more than eighteen; Goyle followed behind. Recomposed, Voldemort turned. The boy looked so small, hands and knees pressed to the cold stone, eyes cast down. 

"Get out." Voldemort whispered, but no one moved. " _Get out!_ "

The men nearly ran at this, but Bellatrix followed somewhat reluctantly, casting an almost jealous look at her cousin. Eyes burning holes in his back, she closed the doors. There was silence, and it suddenly occurred to Voldemort that he really hadn't thought of what to say. If the boy knew, he needed to find out how much and then dispose of him; if he didn't know, anything he might say could reveal too much. The silence stretched on and at last the boy looked up with shaky shoulders. 

"Do you usually personally kill deserters?"

An anger flared inside Voldemort, so white and hot it nearly escaped him. His expression, however, remained unreadable. He wanted to say something clever, something that would dig deep, hurt him. He wanted to _hurt_ the stupid boy, but he knew lost hope when he saw it. Generally, he was filled with glee at such a prospect, but this just meant getting information would be ten times as difficult. It didn't matter what he did, the boy simply didn't care; his young eyes so hollow. 

"Those are fine bruises," he said at last. "From spindly hands." 

The boy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening for a blow. 

"How cold you must be." Voldemort said, cloaks sweeping the floor as he circled the boy. "Out in the North Sea all alone." 

It was probably for nothing; this boy was too young and too stupid to be discovered by. _Him?_ Over the Minister? Over Dumbledore? 

"They will find out." The boy said. "I don't know how you did it, but they will find out."

Voldemort halted, his back to the boy. He attempted to reach out, to feel the world and his pieces in it. He didn't feel weaker—didn't feel a loss, but then again, he had never lost one before. He should have made one and destroyed it, to know for sure. That's what he should have done. He thought of Dumbledore, and though he had nothing to do with the silly boy, he cursed him anyway. 

"You won't win." The boy whispered, voice strained from water and wind, his body pushing him to stand on shaking legs. 

Anger won out. 

Voldemort turned, his wand thrown out in a violent gesture.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Regulus Black fell dead onto the stone floor, eyes wide and lips parted. His last thought was of his brother.


End file.
